Takedown Twenty (Stephanie Plum 20)

And he eats tongue casserole, I thought. And he hoses down his nephew, and has a grandmother that makes mine look like chopped liver. True, he’s still friggin’ sexy. And I enjoy being with him. And I like his dog. But the whole big-Italian-family-cooking-tongue thing was giving me stomach cramps.

I went to the kitchen drawer where the extra keys were kept but couldn’t find the key to the Buick.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” my mother said. “Your grandmother has the Buick.”

“She doesn’t have a license.”

“She’s a lunatic. She’s going to get arrested and sent to jail. I’ll have to visit her in prison. Do you have any idea what the neighbors will say? I won’t be able to shop at Giovichinni’s.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She had a date. Big secret.”

“With Gordon?”

“I don’t think so. She said Gordon was a dud, and she had someone new on the hook. This morning there was a single sunflower on the doorstep, and it had your grandmother’s name on it. You mark my words, she’s fooling around with a married man. It’s that Internet. She’s on it all the time. I went upstairs and looked, and her laptop is missing from her room.”

My heart did a painful contraction and a chill ripped through me.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” I said to my mom. “I’m going to use the bathroom, and I’ll call someone for a ride.”

I didn’t need to use the bathroom. I needed to see my grandmother’s room, and I didn’t want to alarm my mother. She was already ironing. More bad news and she’d be chugging whiskey.

I went upstairs and looked through Grandma’s bedroom. My mother was right about the computer. It was missing. Grandma had a small desk in her room. I rifled the drawers but found nothing. No names or addresses scribbled anywhere. She didn’t have a cellphone. The single sunflower was in a bud vase on the desk. I looked through her dresser and under the bed. Nothing. I called Ranger and asked him to pick me up and track down the Buick.

“Who’s picking you up?” my mother asked when I came back to the kitchen.

“Ranger.”

My mother’s eyes flicked to the cabinet where she kept the whiskey.

“What?” I asked. “Now what?”

“Morelli has turned into a nice boy, but now you have this Ranger. What kind of a person only wears black?”

“It’s easy for him. Everything matches.”

“I hear things about him. It’s like he’s Batman.”

“He’s not Batman. He’s just a guy who owns a security agency.”

“Why don’t you call Joseph for a ride?”

“He’s working.”

I gave my mom a kiss on the cheek and promised I’d call if I heard from Grandma. I grabbed my messenger bag and went outside to wait for Ranger.

Five minutes later he rolled to a stop in his Porsche 911 Turbo. I slid in and thought there was some truth to what my mother had said. He was Batman without the rubber suit.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m worried about Grandma. I think she might be with the Dumpster killer.”

The Buick had been left in a small parking lot attached to a 7-Eleven on Broad Street. Ranger and I got out of the Porsche and went to the car. It was unlocked. Empty inside. No bodies. No blood. No Venetian blind cord or cryptic messages.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked Ranger.

“Do you have suspects?”